Bad Cards
by Adam Lefton
I've been told that everybody hates their first job out of college-- that almost no one makes it through life without at least one term of boring desk work-- and, two months into my first stint of employment in the real world, I came face to face with this fact.
The unique linchpin, so to speak, was what my job entailed. I did public relations for online poker websites; and while that may sound exciting, I assure you it hardly fulfilled my delusions of changing the world. Just how does a man in Las Vegas winning a cool 7.5 million wipe out poverty, help discover a cure for Aids, or, at the very least, make for good television?
I've stopped asking myself these questions.
Regardless, that is how much Joe Hachem, the 2005 World Series Main Event Champion, won after besting more than 5,000 competitors at the last World Series of Poker.
It's no wonder "poker" is now one of the most searched words on the Internet. "Googlers" might as well Ask Jeeves, "how do I make a fortune?"
Toss in the record setting numbers at the six-week-long Las Vegas festival-- simmer, boil, spice-- and at the height of summer 2005 it seemed that a national, perhaps even global, statement was being made: poker has arrived.
Just how did this arrival affect me?
While hopeful amateurs and seasoned pros bet it out on the strip, I surfed the Web for poker information, helped organize events in coordination with the World Series, and tracked the results of all 45 tourneys from my company's base in New York. Routinely, I read through lists of players making more money for a few days' work than I could hope for in a year-- and in Hachem's case, a lifetime.
I began to daydream of poker success, placing myself at the final table with millions at stake. Soon, I'd downloaded poker software and spent my evenings playing online.
I never bet real money, only making fake wagers at the play-money tables and testing my tournament skills in free competitions. But I did play, and it did steal my focus from two interests I'd hoped, and still do hope, to develop into a career: reading and writing.
I graduated with a Bachelor's of Arts in English and creative writing. Math, the primary component of poker, is not my forte.
I say is because at one point in my life I crunched numbers with the best of them. Growing up, I excelled at math; this culminated in a high score on my advanced placement calculus test-- a score that helped me place-out of the math requirement at my college, thereby allowing me to choose not to study it anymore. This choice satisfied me completelyŠ until I discovered poker.
Why not recall my algorithmic past if I can use it to win enough money to live comfortably? I actually convinced myself that winning enough playing poker could help finance a life of writing about whatever proved to pique my pen.
Herein resides my problem with online poker: with a few clicks of the mouse, these wayward dreams seemed possible.
It shouldn't be so easy.
After I read Into Thin Air, I wanted to experience the great Mt. Everest, but winning a 40 dollar satellite tournament to a seat at its peak wasn't an option, so I never went. The fantasy faded and others took its place. Such is the case with ideas that are not our true callings.
So should have unfolded my tryst with poker, a game that up until a few years ago was only available to those passionate enough to travel great distances to play, those who now make up the niche referred to in the poker world as "the professionals."
I've watched them on television -- the Phil Iveys, Gus Hansens and Annie Dukes. They certainly make the game look like the epitome of style, and I can't blame the millions who aspire to be them. But I'm sure there are many online players for whom poker is not their coup de grace. Many lose money, vast sums of money, and I can only guess the games proliferation on the Internet is at fault. Without such easy access, many of these unfortunate victims might enjoy other activities, having not enough genuine interest to expend energy traveling to live tournaments.
For six weeks, I entertained delusions of poker fame and fortune. I put my writing on hold, left my book on the shelf, and, consequently, was ill-prepared for the release of Harry Potter.
Leave it to J.K Rowling to make me see the light.
As nice as it would have been to make millions, I'm glad I never took the plunge into betting real money. Instead, I deleted the software and buried my nose in the adventures of Harry, Hermoine and Ron.
As for my other delusions, the ones that have me changing the world-- I'll always keep those around.